Oh Thou whose tender mercy hears
Contrition’s humble sigh,
Whose hand indulgent, wipes the tears
From sorrow’s weeping eye.
See, Lord, before Thy throne of grace,
A wretched wanderer mourn:
Hast Thou not bid me seek Thy face?
Hast Thou not said,
And shall my guilty fears prevail
To drive me from Thy feet?
Oh, let not this dear refuge fail,
This only safe retreat.
Absent from Thee, my Guide, my Light!
Without one cheering ray,
Through dangers, fears, and gloomy nights,
How desolate my way!
O shine on this benighted heart,
With beams of mercy shine!
And let Thy healing voice impart
A taste of joys divine.
For more texts by Anne Steele, click here.